The One-Thousand Portraits of Jack Frost
by nemesis191
Summary: A series of drabbles featuring a girl who paints and a mischievous -but sweet- winter spirit.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! This is a drabble story having as focus Jack Frost and my OC. While I'll do the utmost to make her realistic and not Mary Sue-ish, any kind of constructive criticism about her or the plot in general is welcome. I'm not a native speaker, but I truly enjoy reading and writing in English...I hope mistakes will not be a nuisance. Time-line is set some years after the events of RotG.**

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Aideen was doodling on a sheet of paper, her soft belly pressed into the ground.

It was the beginning of November, and she transferred with her parents to Burgess just a few days prior.

Burgess was a nice, cozy, little town with a large park filled with wooden toys for the children to enjoy. At the outskirts of the residential area a deep forest loomed from the hills, giving the quiet town just the touch of mystery ideal for creating an interesting bed-time story.

Aideen liked Burgess and its vast greenery, because sometimes she quite missed the luscious grassy fields that she left behind in Ireland. Definitely not missing the rain, though.

The nice neighbour, Mr. Bennet, warmly welcomed the family into the small lot nearest the park, making casual jokes about the weather – unusually frigid in the last years – and proclaiming himself ecstatic at having a new addition to his History of Myths class.

Aideen was ecstatic too, when she discovered that the public elementary school offered that kind of class.

Coming from a cultural background that highly valuated folklore, tales and mysteries she couldn't just wait to know _more_ of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own RotG characters; they originally belong to the amazing children books writer that is William Joyce.  
**

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 _Once upon a time there was a boy._

 _A joyful smile always played on his thin, pink lips and his almond eyes were alight with mischief._

 _The boy's job consisted in minding the herd belonging to his family; he knew to be careful with them, because in times of need sheep were of priceless value._

 _However, responsibility didn't stop him from playing pranks on the poor animals, sometimes poking at them with his crooked shepherd's staff and other times scattering them in fear by hurling himself among the herd._

Mr. Bennet dreamy voice stopped for a moment, allowing his students a quiet titter at the young shepherd's silly antics.

 _The boy had a younger sister, whom he loved very much. He often proclaimed his life goal to be his sister's happiness, obviously brought about by his penchant for practical jokes and general mischief._

 _The boy and his sister lived with their mother, and they had nothing to call their own but a small wooden shack and the small flock of sheep. Despite their poverty – or maybe exactly thanks to it – they found contentment in having one another._

The narration was momentarily interrupted by a few groans and snorts, exhaled by who perceived this to be a little too sappy for their taste. Mr. Bennet smirked over his book, but otherwise ignored the hecklers.

 _Then finally came winter, the one season that the boy truly enjoyed, because the herd preferred to stay warm in the shed instead of searching the frozen ground for withered blades of grass. Having no sheep to mind meant for the boy a few weeks of freedom, and especially, a few weeks of fun and pranking with his loved sister._

 _Since the small family couldn't afford any expensive toys, the boy crafted a pair of thin wooden slippers for his sister and himself._

 _These confections were perfect for sliding on the frozen pond that was located deep in the woods._

 _For many years the boy and his sister had enjoyed skating on the frozen pond, and this year was not different from any other._

 _Or maybe, just maybe, it was._

 _That year's winter was extremely long, and the frigid weather easily slipped onto the weeks, and until the fifth moon cycle of the season._

 _The boy and his sister were enthusiastic, because a long long winter meant a long long time of absolution from work and, naturally, tons of fun. They skated from sun-up to sun-down, on a layer of ice that was thinning out more and more each time–_

 _Until, one day, it broke.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own RotG characters; they originally belong to the amazing children books writer that is William Joyce.  
**

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Chairs scraped against the floor. History of Myths class was finished.

Aideen quietly got up from her desk, her mouth tasting like sand, dry and sour.

How dreadful for the poor shepherd's boy to end up drowning in frigid water. Especially when he was playing with his sister, who had to witness tragedy unfurl.

She was a lone child, but if she ever had a sister or a brother she couldn't imagine surviving such an unsettling event. Sure, the boy died in order to protect his sister from certain death; but she found inordinately disturbing that in committing such a selfless act he would call the same freezing death upon himself.  
Never mind that his courage won him his role as a Guardian of Childhood.

It was just plain sad.

Feeling forlorn and in need of some distraction, Aideen bid farewell to the few children with whom she got familiar during the first weeks of school, politely declined an invitation to play with them at the park and swiftly proceeded to disappear somewhere quiet.

Having been around Burgess for almost a month allowed her to know exactly where a perfect spot for tranquility was. She wasn't antisocial nor particularly a loner, but after sharing the same small space (such as the classroom) with the same people (who could be at times particularly annoying) for hours on end she fervently desired some alone time.

She didn't know if this could be classified as antisocial behaviour, but personally when she thought about loners an image of someone shunning people sprang to mind.

Aideen was not under the impression that _shunning people_ could be an apt expression for describing herself. In fact, she appreciated having people around, but she equally valued having time for herself and her interests.

While musing about personality traits and their definition, she steadfastly trudged up the wooded hill that overlooked Burgess.

She loved a good walk, and the idea of _not_ necessarily being in the rain gave her an impromptu boost of giddiness. Endless rainy and stormy days where a forgotten Irish memory that would only cause minor homesickness.

Conversely, Burgess seemed to be covered in a perpetual layer of snow which froze during the cold nights, making the town seem a frilly Christmas card picture.

After a more few minutes of walking effort, she finally reached her destination.

The frozen pond was hit by the afternoon sun rays, sparkling like a kaleidoscope of diamonds and reflecting a soft light on all the pine barks around.

Aideen sighed at the sheer beauty and _magic_ of it all.

Cleaning the surface of a nearby boulder from the recent snow and comfortably settling on the rock, she extracted a battered blue notepad, a chipped charcoal pencil and proceeded to sketch every detail she could focus her attentive gaze on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own RotG characters; they originally belong to the amazing children books writer that is William Joyce.**

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At first, she thought him to be a trick of the light.  
Just another glimmering shadow in the midst of the multicolored sparkling frost.

And yet, she could have sworn to have just made out the shape of a thin, clothed arm.

Aideen frowned and looked around. The woods were alive with soft natural sounds, but completely devoid of any human presence.

She focused again on the frozen pond, and, after a couple of minutes the sparkle condensed into forming what was, without an ounce of doubt, a _hand_ , casually moving mid-air.

She gulped noiselessly, seized between fear and entrancement, and sat _very_ still.

Then, she saw him.

He was a boy, trapped in that awkward stage that is no more child yet not still adult.

Thin to the point of being gaunt, clothed only by a hoodie and a pair of tattered pants he glided effortlessly on the ice, seemingly chasing the light sparkle rising from the pond surface.

With extreme gracefulness he fluently lifted one skinny leg from the ground, twirling around in a perfectly symmetrical circle like a practiced dancer.

Returning both feet on the ice and skating backwards towards the edge of the pond, he opened both arms wide like a butterfly and then proceeded to elegantly fall back, collapsing bum first into the deep, soft snow bank.

And he didn't move anymore.

* * *

Aideen shook herself from her stupor, forcing her brain into activity.

Leaving her sketching material unattended on the rock, she hurled herself towards the fallen boy, trying her utmost to be fast despite the two-foot tall snow wall covering the pond's edge.

When she finally made her way to the boy, he still lay unmoving and silent in the cold layer of white.

She swallowed hard and hovered over him, taking inventory.

He was motionless, arms still spread out in an uncaring and free gesture.

His eyes were closed, and a tuft of heavily bleached hair fell haphazardly on the bridge of his straight greek nose.  
His dark eyebrows were relaxed, giving him a serene appearance.

A small, satisfied smile played on his thin and very white lips.

It was that unnatural whiteness that prompted Aideen to speak.

"Hey" she inquired softly "are you…alive?".

A shiver seemed to make its way through the boy's body.

Suddenly a pair of _impossibly_ blue orbs were staring at her.

"That depends on your definition of alive, of course!".


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own RotG characters; they originally belong to the amazing children books writer that is William Joyce.**

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He had an unusually deep voice for someone so young. It was a smooth baritone, unfurling from his white lips with a misty, echoing sound.

Aideen tilted her head, curiosity crushing caution.

She observed his cheeky, bright blue irises, swirling with many beautiful hues.

His hair, appearing to be a natural snow-white colour from closer inspection.

His bare feet, seemingly immune to the freezing temperature of the ground.

His tattered pants and common blue hoodie.

His proximity to the pond, and his easy glide on it.

She came to a startling -but supported by fact- conclusion.

"Are you a Gwragedd Annwn?" she reverently asked.

"A _what_?" exclaimed the boy, looking bewildered.

"Oh – maybe here in America they are called differently" Aideen muttered. "You know, a water spirit who lives under lakes" she patiently explained "Usually they are pale, at ease near their dwelling - independently on the season, and they wear ordinary clothes in order to not attract attention to themselves. Which usually isn't the case, as they are too err..much pretty to pass unnoticed".

The boy listened closely to her, and when she was finished he burst into a peal of laughter.

"Oh, I'm a spirit all right! But not the kind you are speaking of" he managed to get out between hiccups."Even if I appreciated being considered _too much pretty_ to pass unnoticed" he concluded, winking at her.

"You're welcome" Aideen replied, gifting him with a rare huge grin.

"Well, now that we got over who I am _not_ , I suppose that it's time for some proper introductions" he sprang upright fluently, succeeding again in turning a jerky movement into something harmonious.

He bowed low in a flamboyant gesture, taking the opportunity for nonchalantly retrieving something from the snow covered bank.

It was a crooked shepherd's staff, one full head taller than himself.

He cleared his throat and grandly proclaimed: "The name's Jack Frost, my fair lady, and me bring snow and wintery fun in the world at large!".

She looked stunned for a moment but quickly regained herself.

"Oh, Mr. Bennet told us your story this very morning!" she blurted out, and he swelled with pride, looking positively radiant.

"I know, I know, Jamie always had a talent with words".

Aideen supposed that Jamie was Mr. Bennet first name, but she sincerely couldn't remember.

And she failed to introduce herself to a spirit! Her granny, God rest her soul, would be appalled at her poor behaviour.

She curtseyed as much as the thick two-foot tall snow allowed and clearly pronounced "Messer Jack Frost, I am enchanted to make your acquaintance; I plead for your kindness and consideration. I am but a poor countryside girl, Aideen O'Toole, with only a little talent for painting accounting for herself".

The winter spirit laughed out loud at her silly speech, while she smirked to herself.

"You have such a pompous-sounding name! What does it mean?" he inquired curiously.

Aideen lips lifted in a small smile "It is indeed a pretentious name. Aideen means "bringer of fire", while O'Toole is a surname coming all the way from a King of Leister, the older name of the Dublin area. I think it translates into "mighty people" or something".

"So you are called the _Mighty Bringer of Fire_? That's hilarious! Everybody will automatically think you a feisty firecracker. Or at least a ridiculously brave one".

She looked thoughtfully at her charcoal-stained hands and quietly replied.

"I'd like to be. One day".

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 **A/N: I'd like to express my thanks to agent000, who was my first reviewer, and who inspired this chapter with an appasionate speech regarding cultures, folklore and languages.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own RotG characters; they originally belong to the amazing children books writer that is William Joyce.**

* * *

After a pensive pause, he spoke: "Did you say you are good at painting?".

Aideen was relieved that Jack didn't press her bravery issue; she didn't think she would be able to answer any questions on the matter, nor to gracefully accept any suggestion or advice.

It was something that she wanted to improve herself.

Moreover, she knew that she wasn't a coward in the strict sense of the word because she could be courageous or even daring when the situation required it; but she knew that bravery didn't only mean being able to throw herself into danger's arms.

It also meant being bold enough to put yourself on the line, exposing your fears and insecurities, trusting in others and generally being very vulnerable.

She didn't like it one bit.

She preferred to maintain a wary and aloof façade, listening intently to other people and understanding them instead of being heard and comprehended herself. She was very observant and quite shrewd for her age, honing her skills by reproducing the world around her on paper. In this way, she could imprint her own point of view in her drawings, and it would act as a secret code that only herself could decipher and fully appreciate.

Her paintings represented her concepts, her impressions, her desires and fears; in short, everything that was too cumbersome or awkward to say aloud and that simply made herself _Aideen_.

Considering this, she wasn't particularly happy with Jack's enquiry.

"Yes, I…paint" she hesitantly answered, casually avoiding his question's true aim.

Which, of course, he immediately noticed.

"But you are good at it, aren't you?" he pressed on.

And then, obviously: "Let me see something!".

Aideen internally cringed, searching for the appropriate words in order to gently turn him down. Probably slamming a resounding _no_ into his hopeful and outrageously cute face didn't satisfy the "gently" requirement.

Therefore, being a girl so much at ease with words that she preferred painting instead of talking, she wisely kept her mouth shut.

Evidently, the winter spirit had already dealt with introverted children because he wasn't the least bit affected by her nipping behaviour. If anything, he grew more insistent.

"Pleeeeease!".

And _cuter_. Damn.

For all her frosty demeanour she didn't have a heart of stone. But neither was she soft enough to just give in at the first pretty winter spirit with huge, wonderful sapphire blue eyes pleading with her.

"Look, I can create really pretty things with snow! Here, these are for you".

And absolutely _not_ soft enough to surrender at the sight of some adorable snowy kittens dancing all around her.

"No? Maybe..will you be impressed by something else?"

God, if he was insistent! If he wasn't a spirit –and such a cute one – she would have already left.

And then he just produced a frozen lily from thin air, extending it to her from a large, fine-boned hand.

The flower was so beautiful and so carefully cut from ice that she relented a little bit, and settled on bargaining instead of silently rebuffing.

She reached out.

His hand was as icy as the flower he held. She brushed against him for just a moment and a small shiver ran through her arm. She quickly retracted her hand, holding the frozen lily near her face for closer inspection.

She couldn't regard it at length because after a few moments the flower literally exploded in a swirl of white butterflies that just dissipated into nothingness.

Aideen looked back at Jack, who was grinning in anticipation.

"All right" she solemnly stated, "I will show you one of my paintings".

The winter spirit whooped in joyful victory, pumping his shepherd's staff high in the air.

She stopped him with her next sentence.

"But on one condition".

A nervous, cold breeze scuttled around them.

"It will be a portrait of yourself".

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 **A/N: thanks to everybody that clicked the follow, favorite or review button; your feedback is appreciated and it keeps me going.**


	7. Chapter 7

**NB: while writing this chapter I was convinced that Education in the USA was similar to UK - which translates into two stages (primary school from 5 until 11, secondary school until 18). I discovered that this is not always the case, as sometimes there is a middle school stage. I apologize for this mistake - let's just pretend that public school in Burgess follows the Queen's law and that 12 is the age when transition between educational stages occurs! =)**

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 **Disclaimer: I do not own RotG characters; they originally belong to the amazing children books writer that is William Joyce.**

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 _I'll come to you in the longest, coldest night._

Aideen came home feeling dizzy from the cold and from the magical encounter with the enchanting spirit.

After nodding a greeting to her father, busy hitting the keys on his laptop at an astonishing speed, she scuttled along the stairs towards her bedroom. She narrowly avoided her mother waltzing out of the bathroom, not feeling up to answering all the custom questions about her free time, and how was her school day, and did she collect a nice A from last week English assignment?

Once safely in her haven, she inhaled her first deep breath in the day, and then exhaled a soft sigh.

Could anyone believe her amazing afternoon adventure, if she ever were inclined to share the tale?

Could _she_ have faith in the startling blue her own very eyes had seen, the warm and deep voice her ears had heard, and the cold boyish hands she had touched?

After brooding over this dilemma for half an hour, she decided that she had enough reasons to both support or sink her belief in the day's events. Therefore, for the sake of consistency, she decided to take a chance at believing. In the worst case scenario, she would be disappointed at having imagined all the endeavor and more than a little impressed with her day-dreaming prowess.

Aideen sat at her desk, rummaging through the blank papers, the charcoal sketches and some unfinished colored outlines in search of a calendar.

 _I'll come to you in the longest, coldest night._

She eyed the tiny squares marking the transition of days into weeks and months. She was no detective, but the boring mandatory Natural Science class taught her that the longest day in the northern hemisphere was the Summer Solstice, while the longest night (or the shortest period of daylight) was the Winter Solstice. Since she was supposedly dealing with a winter spirit it made sense that his enigmatic sentence was referred to the least event.

She pouted.

It was _weeks_ away.

Resigning herself to the unavoidable wait, she sulkily extracted a clean sheet of paper and began to think of her subject.

After a few reflective moments, a brilliant idea hit her.

Days passed, and with each of them, her furiously drawn tangles of charcoal shifted into more precise outlines.

The sketch came to life as a swirl of shapes, overall improved by careful shading, which finally blended into a proper chiaroscuro texture.

It was the beginning of December when she declared herself done with the principal sketch and proceeded to set up her easel and to select an appropriate canvas.

She wanted her commissioned painting to be large enough to be appreciated from a few steps away, but not big enough to be pretentious.

Finally, she settled on a rectangular canvas which was one-foot-three-quarter width and two feet height.

Stretching out her shoulders, whose muscles were sore from all the drawing, she suddenly remembered something _very_ important.

Five days before the Winter Solstice she would turn twelve.

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 **A/N: thanks for the reviews,follows and favorites. I love you all!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own RotG characters; they originally belong to the amazing children books writer that is William Joyce.**

* * *

It was lunch time when the whispers started.

For having been in Burgess almost two months, it was almost kind of late, really.

Everything happened during Art class, but she could bet someone did take notice before that.

 _Especially_ the adults.

Aideen didn't especially care about all this.

As per usual, her indifference on the matter just fueled her peers' resentment, alienating herself from the others more so than what her poor social skills could have managed. The only adult trying to reign the gossip in was the ever-kind Mr. Bennet, while the other teachers just turned a blind eye to this sort of light and low-risk hallway bullying.

Anyway, she neither was grateful Mr. Bennet for his support nor feeling vengeful towards the other uncaring adults.

After all, physicians stated quite clearly that her talent for empathy had not been correctly engraved onto her DNA.

* * *

It was a drowsy Friday morning, and the first Art class with the sixth grader was in session.

The teacher, an elderly woman with a strong passion for the Cubism movement, was cooing over the children's doodles as if they were magnificent landscapes. However, when she reached Aideen's spot a spontaneous gesture of wonderment came over her.

While her other students struggled with representing the square windows settled on the front of their own house, this girl just drew the perfect carbon copy of what she seriously thought to be The Parthenon, in Nashville. The astounded teacher recognized the classical beauty of the wriggling heroes and gods embossed on the fronton, and the precise design of the geometrical pillars towering over the white marble steps leading inside the temple's dark entrance, overall eerily similar to its twin, the more famous but also more damaged Greek Parthenon.

For just a moment, she felt the same electric dizziness that overcame her almost forty years ago, when she first put her foot inside a Picasso exhibition and fell hopelessly in love with it.

She probably emitted some sort of choked sound, because immediately all the children's attention was focused on her. Save for the girl, who was studiously shading the bulk of a pillar and remained oblivious to everything else.

Squinting her eyes, she vaguely remembered that something about _this_ particular girl was said during the last teachers' meeting…

She returned to reality only when one of the students called her name aloud, and it was too late.

The curious children were huddled around her, carefully observing their classmate's work. After years of experience as a teacher she could immediately pinpoint the ones that were genuinely amazed by the girl's talent and others that were instead steaming with petty resentment at being so greatly outdone, and by a peer nonetheless.

A slight feeling of dread drove her to call an early end to the class. The girl snapped out of her trance at once and, without even a backward glance to her masterpiece, ghosted out of the classroom.

Dismissing the other students, however, was not such an easy task.

"Mrs. Bingley, did you cheat by helping out Aideen?" one girl sulkily inquired.

"N-no, I…did not" the teacher stuttered. She didn't know if she would be able to produce _this_ result.

The children were silent for a moment.

"Well, she isn't very good at other subjects!" interjected a pudgy boy.

"Not at all, she just scraped by with a D during last Geography test" helpfully added another.

"It was the same in Natural Science! She simply didn't seem all that interested".

"Yeah, yeah like she was superior and all that".

"Only because she is new she acts all cool, barely speaking with us".

Mrs. Bingley suddenly remembered the topic discussed during the teacher's meeting.

"I bet she keeps her mouth shut because she could only manage big prattle".

"Surely not as big as her fat ass!".

Snorts and various degrees of giggling followed.

Mrs. Bingley, though overwhelmed by the arising situation, thought that _right now_ could be a good moment to intervene.

"Richard, please, watch your language".

Richard chirped an apology, looking positively unrepentant.

She eyed him for a moment and then proceeded to explain, in her sternest voice, that they all should be understanding and patient with their relatively new classmate.

The children loudly rejected this notion, calling it biased and unfounded.

Why should they make the effort of acting gently while she is so callous and uncaring towards everybody and everything?

Why was she so talented at drawing but equally fruitless at almost everything else?

Mrs. Bingley was clearly distressed.

" _Because_ , my dear children, she is sick".

Sick because of what? Did she have a stomachache from eating too much candy? Or did she have a cold?

"Her illness is called Asperger's Syndrome. It makes her very very good at something, but quite unfit for everything else. Including people".

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 **A/N: special thanks to agent000 for the interesting opinions, and also to guest reviewer "Just a fan". More Jack and more painting in the next chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: a special thanks to everyone that hit the follow, fav or review button. I hope my work will continue to interest you.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RotG characters; they originally belong to the amazing children books writer that is William Joyce.**

* * *

After neatly avoiding an anxious Mr. Bennet, Aideen went home, feeling dejected without really understanding why.

Her mother was speaking animatedly on the phone; the woman, after a sidelong glance and a quick smile towards her daughter, gave the phone her full attention again.

Aideen didn't mind her mother temporary neglect since she _really_ didn't want to talk about her school day – or bout anything else. She just wanted to keep quiet and focusing her energy on something pleasant. Like the fact that today was the Winter Solstice, and she would see Jack Frost again.

She went to the far corner of her room, where the easel was propped up against the wall. Resting on the wooden support was her precious canvas, concealed to the eye by a thin sheet of yellowed cotton. The coverage's intent was only to drive away dust and aggressive sunlight since the colours dried days prior. While the background and shading were complete, the winter spirit's figure was still sketchy at best.

Aideen's reluctance to grant a complete form to the boy was mainly born from two reasons. The first was that, even if she was a peculiarly observant girl, she was not gifted with a perfect photographic memory, and a portrait required great attention to details in order to recognize the subject.

The second reason, however, was tainted with selfishness, because she honestly wished to study Jack's striking features from up close.

For her, this could pass as highly unusual, since very few people in her life did interest her at a personal level.

But she craved to understand him better, and not only with the mere aim of giving him exact life in her painting. She hoped that, by observing his handsome face, she could disclose his secrets.

He fascinated her. Because how could a boy who died such a miserable, freezing death become the Guardian of Fun?

Did he have in his heart to be sad sometimes? Or couldn't he feel any melancholy at all?

Her reactions and emotions were often muffled, or so they told her. But if this was true, where did this burning curiosity originate from?

She wanted to know _him_.

And she was going to paint his bare soul on her canvas.

* * *

Darkness poured out from the skies, and the moon peeked out from the wooded hill overlooking the sleepy town of Burgess.

Her parents were retiring for the night, chattering around in the hallway, and Aideen burrowed silently under her warm duvet in order to not alarm them. At the moment sleep was a faraway concern because tonight she was waiting for guests - and feeling quite giddy for it.

It was rare for her to receive friends at home since she didn't have many friends, to begin with, and really none that she wanted to snoop around her personal haven, thank you very much.

But this was different. _He_ was different, and he had managed to capture her insouciant attention even with a fleeting encounter in the woods.

Aideen shivered even with the duvet wrapped snugly around her. Did she need another additional quilt? After all, it _was_ almost the end of December, and the cold was particularly biting lately.

An icy puff of air managed to sneak in the infinitesimal space between her shoulder blades and the duvet, making her trembling a bit.

Yes, she definitely needed another blanket but felt too lazy to get up and search for it.

She opened only one eye, silently calling upon her non-existent telekinetic abilities in her head and hoping against hope that the red tartan quilt will just waltz out from her closet and settle on her bed.

It did.

But certainly not because of her.

A mischievous but melodious voice filled her ears.

"Hello there, Irish girl! As I, the mighty Jack Frost, promised, I come to let you borrow my handsome face for an awesome portrait! Let us begin!".

* * *

 **To elley** : my aim while writing the last chapter was not to ridicule in any way who has Asperger's; I was merely visualizing how I think people would react when learning about it. I thought that children would make immature jokes (as it always happens when something or someone is different) and the adults would be uncomfortable and not at all informed on the matter. I'm sorry to hear from you that my imagination could be so painfully similar to the truth.

I personally do not condone any kind of bullying, and I do not in any way agree with Mrs. Bingley or Aideen's classmates behaviour, but I strived for realism while writing it. If I offended your sensibilities by doing this, please accept my apologies.


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